Triplet Babies

Chapter 1

Sarah

T he irrigation valve refuses to cooperate, and I’m already covered in mud from crawling around behind the pool equipment. It’s my first day on the Barinov estate, and I’m wrestling with corroded pipes like some kind of plumber instead of the gardener they hired me to be.

The morning started simply enough. I’d arrived at seven sharp, just as the groundskeeper instructed when he called yesterday to confirm my start date. He’d been gruff over the phone but not unkind, giving me basic directions to the equipment shed and a list of areas that needed attention.

“Start with the irrigation behind the pool,” he’d said. “System’s been acting up for weeks. Previous gardener never got around to fixing it.”

Now I understand why. The valve assembly looks like it hasn’t been serviced in years, and the connections are so corroded I need both hands and most of my body weight just to get the wrench to turn.

I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, probably smearing dirt across my face in the process.

The valve finally gives way under my wrench, and water gushes out faster than I expected.

I scramble to redirect the flow toward the garden beds, but the pressure is all wrong, and I can already see the poolside flagstones getting soaked.

“Dammit,” I mutter, cranking the valve in the opposite direction.

The estate spreads around me like something from a magazine, with its manicured lawns, imported stone, and gleaming windows.

I landed this job through pure luck and desperation, answering an ad that most people probably ignored because of the vague location and minimal details.

All I knew was that it paid well and came with minimal supervision, which sounded perfect for someone trying to stay invisible.

I adjust my position, trying to get better leverage on the stubborn valve, when footsteps click across the stone behind me. Designer heels and definitely expensive, no doubt.

A woman walks past without slowing down, her platinum blonde hair catching the afternoon sunlight. She’s tall, willowy, and carries herself like she owns everything she sees. Her dress is cream-colored silk that flows as she moves, and her heels click against the stone.

She pauses near the pool’s edge, close enough that I could speak to her if I wanted to, and close enough that she definitely sees me kneeling in the dirt with my wrench and my growing puddle of irrigation water.

“Excuse me,” I call out, thinking maybe she needs directions or has a question about the maintenance work. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

She turns slightly, just enough to glance in my direction. Her face is stunning in that sharp, expensive way that suggests good genetics enhanced by better cosmetic work. Her gaze sweeps over me once, cataloging my muddy clothes and disheveled hair, and then she simply looks away.

No response. No acknowledgment that I spoke. Nothing.

She continues walking as if I never existed, disappearing around the corner of the pool house with the same unhurried grace she arrived with.

I stare after her, irritation flaring. I wasn’t asking for conversation or trying to be her friend, but basic human decency doesn’t seem like too much to expect. A simple “No, thank you,” would have sufficed.

Then again, people with this kind of money probably don’t see staff as fully human. We’re more like appliances that occasionally make noise, being functional but not worth engaging with.

I turn back to the valve, giving it another aggressive twist. The water flow adjusts, but I’ve overcorrected. Instead of a gentle stream feeding the irrigation system, I’ve created a miniature flood that’s spreading across the pool deck faster than I can contain it.

“No, no, no.” I scramble to adjust the flow again, but my feet slip on the wet stone.

The world tilts sideways as I lose my balance, and I have a split second to imagine myself crashing onto the flagstones, probably breaking something important and definitely losing this job before I’ve even finished my first day.

Then strong hands catch my waist, pulling me upright and back against a solid chest.

The hands that steady me are large and sure, and the body behind me radiates power that makes my pulse accelerate. I can smell his cologne. It’s something expensive and subtle that mingles with his own scent in a way that makes me want to lean back into him.

I don’t. Instead, I step forward as soon as I’m stable, turning to face whoever just saved me from a potentially painful fall.

The man watching me has presence that fills up space without effort. He’s tall, maybe six-four, with dark brown hair cut close and blue eyes that seem to catalog everything they see. His face is sharp and intense, and he’s looking at me like he can see what’s inside of my head.

“Thank you.” The words come out steadier than I expected, considering my heart is hammering against my ribs. “The valve was stuck, and I?—”

“You flooded the deck.” His voice is low and grumbly, with the faintest trace of an accent I can’t place. Russian, maybe. His tone doesn’t carry judgment, just observation, but something about the way he says it makes me want to explain myself anyway.

“I’m sorry. I can clean it up right away.

The irrigation system was backing up, and I thought if I could just adjust the pressure—” I’m babbling now, words spilling out faster than I can control them.

“The valve was completely corroded. I don’t think it’s been serviced in months, or maybe years.

The whole assembly needs to be replaced really, but I was trying to make a temporary fix so the gardens don’t dry out. ”

He raises one hand, and I stop talking immediately. The gesture isn’t aggressive, but there’s authority behind it that makes my mouth snap shut without conscious thought.

“How long have you been working with irrigation systems?”

The question surprises me. I was expecting criticism or maybe instructions to pack up and leave, not what sounds like genuine curiosity about my background.

“Three years, give or take. I worked for a landscaping company in New York before I moved here. We maintained several high-end properties, so I got used to dealing with complex water systems.” I pause, studying his face for any reaction.

“This setup is actually pretty sophisticated. Whoever designed it knew what they were doing.”

“But?”

“But it needs regular maintenance to function properly. The corrosion suggests it’s been neglected for a while.

” I gesture toward the valve assembly, which is now dripping steadily onto the stones.

“I can fix this specific problem, but there are probably other issues throughout the system that will need attention.”

He nods once, a sharp movement that suggests he’s filing away this information for later use.

We stand there for a moment, studying each other in silence.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up that look effortless on him.

Everything about him suggests money and power, but there’s something else underneath that makes me think he’s used to getting his hands dirty when necessary.

“Report to the main house tomorrow morning at eight.” He speaks like someone accustomed to being obeyed without question. “Ask for Mrs. Nykova.”

I blink, trying to process this unexpected turn. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Eight o’clock. Main house. Mrs. Nykova will be expecting you.”

“But I—” I gesture helplessly at the irrigation equipment, the small flood I’ve created, and my mud-stained clothes. “I don’t understand. Am I being transferred? Fired?”

Something that might be amusement flickers across his features, but it’s so brief I could have imagined it. “You’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Should I bring anything? My tools, or paperwork, or?—”

“Just yourself.” He turns to walk away, then pauses and looks back at me over his shoulder, looking at me with an intensity that makes my stomach flutter.

“Clean up the water before you leave.” The words are clearly an order, but the way he says them—low and careful—makes them sound almost like a suggestion. Almost intimate.

“Of course,” I say, my voice coming out smaller than planned.

He studies my face for another long moment, and I have the strangest feeling he’s memorizing my features. Then he nods once and disappears through the same path the blonde woman took, leaving me standing in a puddle with my pulse hammering and no idea what just happened.

I stare after him for several seconds, trying to process the encounter. Was that an order? A promotion? Am I in trouble, or am I being transferred to different duties? The man obviously has authority here because everything about him screamed “boss,” but I have no idea what he wants from me.

The water is still spreading across the deck, so I force myself to focus on the immediate problem.

I turn off the main valve and spend the next twenty minutes mopping up the flood with towels from the pool house, trying not to replay the moment when his hands caught my waist or the way his eyes seemed to see right through me.

By the time I finish cleaning up and pack away my tools, the sun is starting to sink toward the horizon. I’ve been here for nearly eight hours, and I’m exhausted, muddy, and completely unsure about what tomorrow will bring.

I walk back to the employee parking area, a small gravel lot tucked behind a hedge, where my ancient Honda looks painfully out of place among the luxury cars scattered throughout the main drive.

As I load my tools into the back seat, I catch myself glancing toward the main house, wondering if he’s watching from one of those panoramic windows.